


The pain of loneliness

by pigalle



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Episode: s01e01 Easy as Pirozhki!! The Grand Prix Final of Tears, Episode: s01e02 Two Yuris?! Drama at Yu-topia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Press and Tabloids, Social Media, Stammi Vicino brings these two together, Suicide Attempt, also spoilers from episode 10, because it is before Victor comes to Hasetsu, it's angst but it gets better, it's probably going to be like 'the whole season', set during episode one, so I don't even know why I bother with the episode tags, sort of pre-series, those two have a way of blowing things out of proportotion, to be fair no one told them wrong though, well so far we're only at episode 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigalle/pseuds/pigalle
Summary: It's the day of the World Championship in figure skating, and Yuuri reads something that just simply cannot be true.Or, turns out no one really knew Victor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write YoI fanfic since I started watching the show, but I have only had ideas for fics that are way too long for having finished already, so I wanted something shorter to write. I got this idea, started writing, and 3k words later this is apparently short? And I really hadn't meant for the first thing to be this angsty, really. (I seem to really like torturing characters. But everything's not as bad as it seems.)
> 
> Also, Happy New Year!

Yuuri hadn’t yet decided if he was going to watch the World Championship when he entered one of the figure skating forums he sometimes visited. He had failed hard during the nationals so he wasn’t going to compete himself, but he always found it interesting to watch Victor skate. His programs this season has a sense of melancholy over them, a sense of loss and loneliness that had only grown stronger after the GP. Yuuri found himself transfixed every time he watched Victor skate his program to _Stammi Vicino_ . Maybe that was how Yuuri found himself on a thread dedicated to Victor Nikiforov. He’d thought he would see discussions about his upcoming performance, and so was very surprised when a screenshot of a news article stared up at him from the screen. Below it, someone had written: _Victor: Quit telling everyone I’m dead! Journalist: Sometimes I can still hear his voice._

Someone had seriously made a meme out of what seemed to be a faux translation of a Russian article that said Victor was dead. Yuuri was too startled to laugh, or even frown. Before he could react, several people responded, until the conversation halted after: _that’s not actually a faux article… i know the newspaper (i’m frlm russia) theyre the real deal._

What could that possibly even mean? Why would a real deal newspaper lie about something like this?

Before Yuuri, or anyone else, could write something in response, the same person wrote again: _they're not alone having written about it_ _this _ _article even says it’s suicide. it’s english so everyone should be able to read it._

With shaking hands Yuuri clicked the link. He waited with a gnawing feeling in his gut as the page loaded. It couldn’t be real, right?

The well known logo of a sports magazine that frequently covered figure skating filled the top of the screen as the page finished loading.

**Russian figure skating champion found dead**

Yuuri could only stare blankly at the title, not even able to close his shocked mouth. Was … was it really true? Slowly Yuuri scrolled down and started reading.

 

> _The five time Russian figure skating Grand Prix champion Victor Nikiforov was found dead in his apartment this morning. No sign of crime could be found at the site, and a press release from earlier today declare the death a suicide. Nikiforov’s coach, and closest family, Yakov Feltman could not be reached for a statement. Nikiforov was scheduled to participate in the figure skating World Championships later today, along with his rinkmates Georgi Popovich, Mila Babicheva, and this season’s junior Grand Prix champion Yuri Plisetsky. The event will be held as planned in Saint Petersburg, but will be lead off with a quiet minute in remembrance of the champion._

Yuuri couldn’t continue reading, closing the page and locking his phone, his vision blurring dangerously close to being filled with tears. Was Victor really dead? Could it really be true?

Suddenly shocked out of his frozen state, Yuuri rushed into the public dining room where he knew Minako would be to watch the World Championship. He had to see with his own eyes that they were really holding the quiet minute for Victor.

He came to a rushing halt in the room, just as the Japanese commentators translated the explanation from the speakers at place.

“ _...will now hold a quiet minute to remember this clearly amazing man._ ”

Minako was staring at the tv with her mouth open wide, and a few guests looked from her to the tv in curiosity. One man — a frequent guest at Yu-topia — had a sympathetic frown on his face.

After a minute had passed, the commentators began talking again. “ _Leaked information reveals Nikiforov has battled with depression this past season and has been going to therapy, but it hasn’t been as effective as all involved parties had hoped. The press release from earlier today reveals that it was one of Nikiforov’s neighbors who found him in his apartment, after his dog had caused quite the ruckus._ ”

Yuuri wanted them to stop talking, but he couldn’t make his body move a single inch. He was frozen to the spot in genuine shock. Victor was actually dead. Victor had killed himself.

Victor had committed suicide.

The realisation finally shook Yuuri back into movement, and he fled from the room before Minako could turn around and notice him.

He had to do something, something to distract himself. And so he found himself jogging to the Ice Castle after a long jog through town, not really knowing why he went there. Skating had been hard for him since the nationals, and he wasn’t precisely sure it would offer any distraction this time. Not when it was so closely linked to what he wanted to get distracted from.

(How could he possibly be distracted from the fact that his idol since childhood was dead?)

Yuuko was behind the front desk when he got in, not looking up from her work at first.

She didn’t mention Victor or the World Championships, but Yuuri noticed the way she looked at him, like she wondered if she should talk to him about it.

He handed her his glasses and told her he had something to show her.

He found himself skating Victor’s program to _Stammi Vicino_ , no music needed as it played through his own head.

It felt right somehow.

(It felt terrible, that this would be the last ever time the program would be skated, and it wasn’t even Victor who skated it.)

~~~~~

Days turned into weeks, and Yuuri woke up one may morning to snow on the trees. People had tried to contact him about the video the triplets had uploaded, but he didn’t answer a single one. Not even the message from Phichit, because he didn’t know what to say, and then too long time had passed.

Yuuri dressed warmly, shovel in hand, and opened the front door to clear snow from the outside of the onsen, only to knocked back by a large fluff-ball. The poodle barked happily, tongue hanging out.

Yuuri couldn’t stop himself before he had asked the dog, “Vicchan?”

It wasn’t him, he knew, and the dog was too big. And he looked at bit like… But surely it couldn’t be?

“He came with a very good looking foreign guest late yesterday,” his mother said behind him.

Yuuri was up and running so quickly he lost his balance several time before he got to the hot spring, sliding the glass door open.

* * *

 He didn’t really have any one reason behind it, in the end. There was just so many things, stuff he couldn’t control, feelings that wouldn’t stop, people who didn’t understand, wouldn’t understand. He had Makkachin, sure, and it was enough for a while, but things kept piling up, and Makkachin alone wasn’t enough anymore.

How did you know someone had reached the point with no return? How did you know when you had given up? What told you: this is enough? How could you know there was no other way? How would you know it was the only way out?

Maybe, it was when you stopped caring. Maybe, it was when people around you no longer seemed like they could care anymore. Maybe, it was when your old self had disappeared. Maybe, it was when people around you no longer seemed to notice you were acting strangely. Maybe, it was when it had gone on so long no one could longer say: that’s not like them.

Maybe, it was when you no longer could see a reason to fight.

Victor couldn’t see a reason to fight anymore. If no one else seemed to care or think he was being weird, why should he care anymore? All this — the past season, the therapy, the fighting to still be on top, still seem like he cared — it was all for them, the ones who cared about Victor Nikiforov, the figure skating champion. None of it was for those who cared about Victor Nikiforov, the person, because they didn't exist. So why should he care anymore when neither did they?

Victor had a well stocked medicine cabinet for a person who was rarely at home. He had stuff to chose between, almost too much. In the end it didn't really matter though. The outcome would be the same.

Victor was quite used to the feeling of a rushing heart, but most of the time that was from competitions, anticipating. This was different, scarier, causing him to sweat and shudder in coldness. It made his vision swim and blur. It made him stumble as he tried to move from the bathroom to the couch. Makkachin didn’t help when she spun around Victor’s legs, whining and whimpering, as if he was worrying what was wrong with his owner.

 _Oh, Makkachin_ , Victor thought when he realised the poodle would be alone in the apartment. Maybe … maybe he could let Makkachin outside and one of the neighbors would look after her.

He stumbled to the door, his balance even more unsteady now with his churning stomach. He might actually throw up. Or fall, he registered as he almost did just that.

 _Almost at the door_.

If he could just get Makkachin outside everything would be fine. It would be great.

His stomach churned again, rolling in protest. A wave of nausea went through his head, but he managed to reach his hand out to unlock the door.

And fell.

The cold floor felt good against his burning cheeks. Or was he the cold one? He wasn’t sure, not when he couldn’t feel his fingers correctly.

The floor felt good, either way, and he was just so sleepy. He would just sleep for a bit before he let Makkachin out.

* * *

Yakov was with Yuri, Georgi and Mila to go through last minute training, wondering where the hell Victor was, when his phone rang. He didn’t answer, didn’t even check who it was, and turned his attention back to his skaters. If it was Victor he could damn well get his ass here and say it instead. He should have been here over an hour ago.

Yakov’s phone rang again, and then again, but he ignored it.

“Aren’t you going to answer that, Coach?” Mila asked the fifth time the phone rang.

Yakov muttered under his breath but turned away from the ice to take the call. He was not very happy when he answered, and maybe he came off a bit too angry, but frankly he didn’t care.

He wasn’t any less angry when he hung up, but there was a mist over it.

“Was it Victor? Is he coming?” Mila came to a stop in front a Victor, her head tilted in question.

“No,” Yakov muttered. He didn’t have time for this right now. He had three other skaters to take care of, he couldn’t do this.

“No?” Mila asked, at the same time Yuri came over to them and asked, “Where is he?”

Yakov was neither educated or paid enough to want to or know how to deal with this.

“He’s at the hospital,” Yakov found himself saying, but having nothing to follow it up with.

“What? Is he okay?”

“No.” He was probably dead by now. Or would be. Yakov really didn’t want to have to deal with this.

“Yakov, why’s there an article that says Victor committed suicide?” Georgi asked, finally coming to join them.

_How the hell did they find out so quickly?!_

“It’s true?” Yuri asked in a small voice.

 _Damn_ , he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “He’s at the hospital now, they don’t know what will happen.”

“Is he dead?” Yuri’s voice was if possible even smaller with this question.

“Get back to practice,” Yakov muttered. He was _not_ going to deal with this now. Practice had to come first. When he was happy with it he could go to the hospital and then back quickly for warm up.

(Yakov didn’t notice Mila lost expression, or Georgi’s stunned face, or Yuri’s tearful eyes. He didn’t notice what effect it had gotten that he hadn’t answered Yuri’s question.)

~~~~~

Victor was — miraculously — alive when Yakov had hurried to the hospital. They had pumped his stomach and given him fluids to speed up the process of getting the drugs out of his system, but he hadn’t woken up yet.

There wasn’t much hope he would either. He was practically dead, a doctor told Yakov. They had thought so when the paramedics arrived at the apartment, and only when they got to the hospital had they realised there was still a chance. The chance had turned out to be very slim, and it still was. Telling the press that Victor was alive would most likely only result in having to tell them he had died.

Yakov didn’t say anything to his students when he got back for warm up.

(The press kept trying to contact him, but he wouldn’t respond.)

Later, the hospital called him again.

Mila noticed his grim look and asked: “How is he?”

“He’s gone.”

(Yakov didn’t allow himself any emotions, and his students needed him for the warm up.)

~~~~~

Miraculously, the hospital called him again after the competition was over. Somehow, Victor had gotten through. Somehow, Victor had woken up. Somehow, Victor had survived his suicide attempt.

When Yakov got to his room, Victor was full out grinning.

It didn’t fool Yakov.

* * *

Victor felt … hollow when he woke up. He wasn’t supposed to have woken up. But somehow, for some reason, Victor woke up in a hospital bed, in a brightly lit single room. There was a monitor by his side, and a curtain pulled closed over a window on the door.

The room was bare and cold, reeking of the loneliness that came when no one visited. There was no trace of anyone having been there, no trace of anyone wishing him to get better.

It filled Victor with a strange feeling, a combination of panic and dread. Yakov would be mad at him, probably yell. Victor had missed the World Championships, after all.

Why was there no cards, no flowers? Hundreds, no thousands, of people would want him to get better. Someone must have visited at some point, right? Someone must have cared enough to find time to come, right? Someone must have wanted him to know they wanted him to get better, right?

Or maybe no one cared. Maybe Victor had actually been so correct when he felt that … before. Maybe…

All the maybes were driving Victor mad, was riling him up, speeding up his heart. A nurse would probably come soon, if he kept going like this.

His stomach ached. Perhaps it was the pills, but there was a different kind of ache, too.

Loneliness. That’s what Victor felt. He was on top of the world, hundred thousands of people loved him, and he felt lonely.

And he was exhausted. He almost fell back asleep before a nurse came to check on him, and he only vaguely felt her presence.

When she left, Victor was alone again. Lonely.

He practised smiling until Yakov came, maybe a few hours later. Yakov took one look at his grin and frowned. There was the obvious disbelief of Victor’s grin in the frown, there was disappointment, there was tiredness, and there was so many other things that Victor didn’t have the energy to reflect over. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t focus on it. It was too much.

“I’m sorry,” Victor whispered after silence had spread out for too long. He wasn’t sure what he apologised for, but something about Yakov’s aura made Victor feel he had to.

“You damn well better be!” Yakov exploded before reeling himself back in. “Press has been a nightmare, and I couldn’t say one thing or another to them because we didn’t actually know if you would survive.”

“What?” Victor asked. He knew the press would react, but it would still only be to tell them what Yakov knew.

“For some reason, the press had somehow gotten in their mind that you killed yourself. Point blank that’s it. There was no use telling them they were wrong if they would still be correct in the end.” Yakov fell quiet, as if giving time for it to settle in. “Do you realise what that means, Victor? Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

From his tone Victor realised Yakov meant for Victor to feel bad over it, to feel regret. He felt nothing.

“Okay,” he told Yakov, whose face turned a deeper shade of red.

“Victor!” Yakov yelled,having finally lost his temper. “This is no laughing matter. Take some responsibility for once in your life!”

Victor smiled to hide his hurt.

“Okay, I’ll tell you you won’t have to deal with the press.”

“No, because you will be doing that?” Yakov muttered.

“No, we’ll just not tell them at all.”

“You can’t do that, Victor.” Yakov sighed tiredly, like he had had enough of Victor’s nonsense.

“Just for a little while,” Victor hurried to say, hoping to make Yakov agree with him. “Just until I’m let out. I’ll get some peace and quiet for a while. Huh?”

Yakov grumbled and muttered something under his breath, before letting out a sigh. He’d relented.

“Fine.”

“Great!” Victor exclaimed with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Do you have my phone?”

Yakov threw it on the bed and left the room.

~~~~~

Victor found himself spending the next days on his phone, reading through the huge amount of articles written about him, his overdose and death. When that was enough, he moved over to scrolling through forums and tags related to him on social media. It was a maelstrom of voices, grief over his passing, confusion over how it had happened. Victor came to one big conclusion over these days: no one had noticed how he had been feeling the past season. No one. The overdose had come as a complete surprise for everyone. He hated how small that realisation made him feel.

On the third day he found a section on social media that discussed his two programs and his different presentations of them in competition. And with that, he found a youtube video, posted the same day he overdosed, that already had several millions of views. Everyone in this section of social media talked about it. The last ever performance of his _Stammi Vicino_ routine. And it was Katsuki Yuuri who had skated it.

Victor remembered Katsuki from the GP banquet. He had been so quiet in the beginning, the literal meaning of a wallflower. But then, with the more flutes of champagne he had drunk, he had turned more outgoing. Watching Yuuri dance had made Victor feel alive, aware of his body and surroundings in a way he very rarely was.

Victor had fallen a little bit in love with Yuuri at the banquet, and watching Yuuri skate his routine made him remember some of what he had felt that evening.

 _“Be my coach, Victor!_ ” Yuuri had said. What if…

Victor knew what he had to do.

~~~~~

When he was released, Victor left without telling Yakov. He went to get Makkachin, packed a few things he would need, and bought a plane ticket.

~~~~~

Hasetsu was small enough that he found his way to Yu-topia without help. Snow had fallen sometime recently, but Victor didn’t complain as it gave him the perfect excuse to hide his identity behind a woollen hat and a scarf.

A lovely woman greeted him when he stepped inside, asking him something in rapid Japanese. When he looked at her in confusion, she switch over to a trouble less English.

She helped him get settled in his room, showed and told him where he could find the dining room and the hot springs. The best of all was that she didn’t seem to recognise him at all, even though she had proudly shown him her son’s medals.

Victor could even give of a small genuine smile when he sank into the heavenly water in the hot spring.

~~~~~

It was slightly surreal to meet Yuuri again with their state of dress reversed. Yuuri was wrapped up in warm clothes, and Victor was soaking naked in the water. It was such a contrast he couldn’t stop the smile before it reached his lips. He was genuinely feeling some happiness when he extended his hand towards Yuuri and told him he would be his coach.

He couldn’t motivate himself, but maybe he could motivate someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a epilogue/second chapter to this, with Yuuri reacting and working through this secret. And in the future I'll have more YoI fics posted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out this will have several more chapters!
> 
> This was meant to be a short fic, but have now turn into a multi chaptered angst-fest...

Yuuri almost fell over when his shock made him halt in the middle of a step. There was a single man in the hot spring, young, a few years older than Yuuri, with silver hair and dreamily blue eyes. His chest was sculpted from training, but not overtly so, and his skin was fair, like he came from somewhere cold. And he looked just like Victor Nikiforov. Except it couldn’t be Victor Nikiforov. Because Victor Nikiforov was dead. Victor Nikiforov had committed suicide not even a month ago.

“V-Victor,” Yuuri stammered, because surely it couldn’t be, right?

The … Victor smiled and extended his hand towards Yuuri. “Yuuri, starting today, I’m your coach. I’ll make you win the Grand Prix final.”

Had Yuuri fallen and hit his head? This couldn’t be real life, so he had to be dreaming. Victor was dead, and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t come to Yuuri’s home and say he would be his coach. That wasn’t something that could happen.

“Why… why,” Yuuri tried, feeling tears begin to form in his eyes. He was frustrated with them, and it only seemed to fuel them on. “Why are you letting the press think you’re dead?!” He hadn’t meant to burst with his sudden anger, but it was so unfair what Victor was doing to his fans and skating fans around the world, what he did to fellow skaters like Yuuri.

Victor’s whole demeanor shifted and he hung his head. There was some of the despair Yuuri had felt in his skating recently in the way he held his body, so alien to Yuuri in this situation that all anger drained out of him.

“I-I don’t know?” Victor’s voice lacked confidence to the degree the statement sounded like a confused question and his voice sounded choked up. “I just didn’t want them to pester me, I guess. I didn’t… I didn’t have the energy to deal with them. It was easier to let them continue believing it.”

His anger flashed back and Yuuri had to force himself not to yell out his question. “Why did they even believe it in the first place?”

“I don’t know.” Victor’s voice was low, barely audible. “The doctor told me they thought I was dead at first, and then Yakov said he didn’t want to correct them in case I… you know…” Victor trailed off, but Yuuri didn’t know, and found himself more confused than before.

“No, I don’t know,” Yuuri said. “What doctor?”

“From the hospital, of course.”

Yuuri was missing something in this conversation because it only managed to make him more and more confused for every passing second. What was Victor even talking about?

“From what hospital? What are you even talking about?”

“From the hospital they took me to,” Victor said, finally looking up at Yuuri, but like he was just as confused as Yuuri was. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that everyone thinks you’re dead but you’re not.” When Victor didn’t say anything, Yuuri asked, “What are _you_ talking about?”

Victor shook his head, as if it would rid him of his confusion. “Yuuri, I thought— You said you know the press says I’m dead, so why are you so confused over what I’m talking about?”

“Because you’re not dead, so obviously you didn’t kill yourself! Why is that confusing you?”

A flash of realisation went over Victor’s face before it turned into … despair. “I tried, press thought I succeeded, Yakov didn’t want to correct them because I was practically dead.”

“You tried what?” Yuuri asked, and for a moment Victor looked like he thought Yuuri was dense.

“I— Are you really making me spell it out?” The smile on his face didn’t seem real, it seemed to be as faked as it could be. “I tried to overdose but I survived.” He winched, like he hated saying the words, and suddenly everything clicked into place in Yuuri’s mind. Victor had _tried_. He’d actually tried to kill himself.

“Why?” The question was so much like a demand that Yuuri winched, but he still wanted to know.

“Yuuri, please… I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“You-you can’t just say that and think I’ll be happy with that! How can I stay calm when I’ll constantly worry over if you’ll try again?”

“It won’t. I promised to make you win the Grand Prix final, didn’t I?” Victor gave of a chuckle at the end, like he was trying to lighten up the mood — but it sounded so fake it fell short with Yuuri. But he felt a little better, at least for now.

~~~~~

There was not much more Yuuri could do than stare at Victor as he took a nap on the floor in the onsen. He’d wanted dinner, and when Yuuri’s mother said she’d have it done in a bit, Victor had declared he was tired and was going to take a nap.

Victor was _alive_. He was actually alive, and he was here, right in front of Yuuri at his own home. It was too surreal for Yuuri to be fully able to wrap his head around it.

“Yuuri, help me-” Mari came into the room but shut up when her gaze fell on Victor where he laid curled up around Makkachin in one of the onsen’s robes. “What- Who- How?”

Yuuri could understand her confusion, her shock. Yuuri had cried with her the same night he found out, after she silently had come into his room and laid down with him on his bed.

“He’s not dead, apparently.”

Mari sank to the floor next to Yuuri, not able to take her eyes off of Victor. “Why does he let the press and everyone believe he’s dead? Where did they even get the suicide from?”

“He…” Yuuri swallowed to try to remove the heavy feeling in his throat. “They were right about everything except that he died.”

“Then what the hell is he doing here?” Mari demanded, sounded almost angry. “Why did they even let him go alone? Shouldn’t he be under some form of supervision, or at least therapy?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said with a shrug of his shoulder. “He doesn’t want to talk to me about it.”

Before Mari could answer Victor startled, letting go of Makkachin and sat up with his back to Yuuri and Mari. He turned around slowly — Yuuri and mari sat in anticipating silence as they watched him move — until he was fully turned towards the Katsuki siblings. His eyes were tired, Yuuri noticed, almost void and dull, before turning into … something, like it was forced.

“Is dinner almost done?” Victor asked with a smile that made Yuuri want to frown from its insincerity, but Mari didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.

“Mom is almost done,” Mari said when Yuuri didn’t say anything — he was too focused on thoughts, about Victor’s fake smiles and facade. Why did he always keep a mask on?

As if having waited for Mari to say it, their mom came into the room in that moment, carrying a large bowl of something very tasty and familiar smelling. Katsudon! There had been all too long ago since he last ate it, even if he had tried it at some points back in Detroit, but it had never been the same as his mom’s cooking.

They settled around the table, Yuuri’s dad joining them only a moment later, and began eating. When the food hit his tongue Yuuri couldn’t help but feel in bliss.

“Вкусно![1]” the sound of the foreign word made Yuuri look up, to see Victor sitting there with a little bit of colour on his cheeks, and a genuine look of something resembling happiness.

After dinner, Yuuri helped clear out a room for Victor to settle into. He had a surprising lack of things, and it made to quite big room look cold and uninviting with only the mattress and a chest of drawers. Yuuri was just about to ask him about it when Victor’s phone rang, and with one look at it Victor closed the door right in front of Yuuri’s face, leaving him standing outside the room wondering what had just happened.

* * *

Victor should have realised Yakov would call eventually, sooner rather than later. He’d hoped to avoid it, but in the end it was inevitable. It was better to answer now than drag out what would happen regardless.

“I thought I told you to take some responsibility for once in your life!”

“Yakov,” Victor replied, wincing slightly at the yelling.

“Don’t Yakov me, I’m your coach! What the hell are you doing?! Where are you?”

“You’re not my coach anymore,” Victor said before he could stop, realising he hadn’t actually told Yakov yet. That had been the wrong way to let him know, though.

“Victor!”

“I’m in Japan,” Victor said, hoping to salvage the situation.

“Japan?!” Yakov demanded before Victor could continue. “What are you doing there?”

“I’m going to be Katsuki Yuuri’s coach. Do you remember him?”

“Who?” Yakov asked, seeming to have been taken off guard.

“Japanese skater, he came last place in the GP final.”

“And _you_ are going to _coach_ him?” Yakov sounded like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like he had had enough of Victor’s bullshit.

“Yes, now goodbye, Yakov.”

“Hey, Victor! You still have therapy, you can’t just-”

Victor hung up.

~~~~~

The room was dark, cold and intrusive when Victor had turned off the lights and gone to bed. It was nothing like the bedroom in his apartment in Saint Petersburg, nothing even like the hospital room that had been his home for a short while. It was nothing like hotel room, or guest rooms when he’d stay with Yakov. It was like the ugly darkness that filled Victor had taken physical form in the form of a room. Only Makkachin’s presence stopped him from bailing from the room.

His precious Makkachin. The poodle was cuddled up against him on top of the covers, sharing some heat with Victor. He had his hands clenched in her fur, seeking comfort and reassurance. Makkachin was here for him, even though Victor had been about to leave her all alone, alone even in the apartment.

A sudden sob shuddered through Victor’s body. The force of it took him by surprise, with hot tears running down his cheeks. He’d been such a bad owner to Makkachin, almost left him alone in an apartment. Victor buried his face in Makkachin’s soft fur, hugging her tight, clutching her against his body as he sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, not caring about the fur he got in his mouth.

Victor kept making all these rash and impulsive decisions, and all they did was hurting the people around him, hurting everyone that cared one way or another about him, even if it was only people who admired Victor Nikiforov, the figure skater. He can’t seem to get anything right in his life, not once, not a single damn time. He just managed to screw everything up.

(With his face in Makkachin’s fur, tears down his cheeks, Victor eventually fell asleep.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ###### Translations:
> 
> Вкусно! - (Vkusno!) Delicious! [back to text]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had actually meant to say this from the start: The reason that I spell Victor with a 'c' is because that's how the translations spelled it, so by the time I realised it would be very much culturally correct to spell it with a 'k' (I work on learning Russian, I should have realised things like these) I had already become so accustomed to spell it with a 'c' that I couldn't stop...

Victor woke up early the next morning, and reached blindly for his phone. The room was still dark, so for a bit longer he could put aside getting up. He didn’t want to interact with anyone just yet, too exhausted from last night. His eyes felt dry and itching, and the dried up tear-tracks felt uncomfortable on his cheeks.

He settled back on the bed, careful not to disturb the still sleeping Makkachin, and opened Instagram. He hadn’t been on for a while now, and while he couldn’t post a picture or do really anything else to reveal himself, he could at least check out his feed. The first thing to greet him made Victor regret having opened the app. His feed was completely dominated by posts about his passing, some of them even from people he knew personally. Chris had posted several times, and while he was mostly cheerful, these post screamed out sadness. Victor couldn’t help but feel guilt ridden again.

Instead of scrolling through his feed, Victor switched to look at some profiles. He checked Mila’s first, who after a few posts about Victor from the day of the World Championships and the days after, had switched back to her normal posting routines. She seemed fully okay — and, Victor tried to stop himself from thinking, like she wasn’t even bothered by Victor’s death.

Victor was, however, startled when he checked Yuri’s profile. He hadn’t posted a single picture since the World Championships, not even of the cats he so dearly like photographing. For Victor, this spoke greater lengths than a single post could have done. He tried to ignore the pang of guilt that went through him. Yuri was only a  _ child _ , and Victor had caused him this pain. He shouldn’t have done this to Yuri.

Before he could really think through what he was doing, he’d dialed Yuri’s number and listened as the tones went through. Maybe this would only make things worse? No matter what, he couldn’t hang up now.

“What the hell are you doing!” Yuri yelled down the line before Victor could say anything. “You shouldn’t be having this phone! Give it back! And if it’s you Mila, I swear to god I will-”

“Yuri.” Victor only said it softly, but it promptly shut Yuri up.

“What.” Yuri sounded too shocked to even form the word into a proper question. Then he seemed to find some resemblance of control and hissed, “I’m hanging up, Mila, this is not funny!”

“Yuri, it’s me,” Victor said, trying to sound calmer than he was. “I’m not dead.”

“You asshole!”

Victor couldn’t honestly say what he had expected from Yuri, what he’d thought his reaction would be, but this was not it. Maybe he’d thought Yuri would be angry, but not like this.

“Yuri-”

“No! You don’t get to do this and then pretend like nothing happened, like I shouldn’t be bothered by it! Why would you even do this? I don’t understand, Victor.”

Victor had to keep himself from inhaling sharply at the vulnerability in Yuri’s voice. Yuri was only a kid, there was more than ten years between them, and Victor had hurt him. He should have expected this. He should have. Just another thing to beat himself up over when he couldn’t sleep. Yuri was like a brother to him, sometimes almost like a son, and Victor had caused him so much pain.

“I’m sorry,” Victor murmured. “Forget I called, alright?”

“What?! Victor, wait-”

Victor hung up on him, just like he kept doing to the people who seemed to somewhat care about him.

* * *

“Yakov!” a shrill yell filled the ice rink, and just the sheer thought about who was yelling made Yakov feel the beginning of a headache. Yuri wasn’t supposed to be here yet, and so Yakov had thought he’d get at least a few more hours without having to deal with the kid.

“Where is he?! YAKOV!” There was something with the desperation in Yuri’s voice that made Yakov silently curse Victor as he moved off the ice towards the angry teen. Yuri seemed ready to burst again when Yakov approached, but before he had the chance Yakov pulled him into his office. He didn’t need the other skaters to hear what was about to go down.

“Where’s Victor?” Yuri asked when Yakov had closed the door, this time with significantly less anger.

Yakov turned to him, ready to tell Yuri that Victor was dead, but stopped short at the sight of Yuri almost curled up into himself with tears brimming in his eyes, ready to fall. Yakov opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was interrupted by Yuri saying, “Don’t lie to me.”

Yakov silently cursed Victor again.  _ This _ was what Yakov had known would happen, that Victor had assured him he wouldn’t have to deal with, but now just look at him. Here he was, dealing with it, while Victor was miles away, doing god knew what.

“Yuri-”

“I know he’s alive! So don’t lie to me! Where is he?”

“Plisetsky!” Yakov bellowed “Don’t interrupt your coach!” He would have his students respect him, dammit!

Yuri was only silent for a moment before he said, “He called me. He just said he was alive, and then he hung up!” Yuri was turned away from Yakov, but when he seemed to have collected himself some, he turned right back to Yakov. “Why haven't you said anything?! Where is he?”

Yakov realised Yuri wouldn’t leave until he told him, so with a sigh he moved around his desk to sit down. His skaters would be the death of him, eventually. All this drama, it hadn’t been what he signed up to.

“He’s in Japan,” he muttered as he sank down into his chair.

Yakov’s word seemed to startled Yuri, who’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Japan? What’s he doing there?”

“He’s apparently going to be a coach,” Yakov said grimly, “to some Katsi Yuro, or something.”

“Katsuki Yuuri.” The words fell out to Yuri’s mouth almost like he didn’t realise he said them.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Yuri stormed out of Yakov’s office before Yakov could tell him to leave.

* * *

When Yuuri told him there was a skating rink nearby, Victor had wanted to go there right away. He wasn’t exactly eager to get back to skating, but any excuse to have something that would distract Yuuri from asking too many questions, or his sister from being on Victor’s case.

As they jogged there Victor took notice of how Yuuri’s weight seemed to have … increased quite significantly. He was nowhere close to what he’d been at the banquet after the last Grand Prix final, and if he wanted to really start skating again, he’d have to get back to that weight. The extra weight would hinder him in his movements and throw off his balance — especially since it seemed he hadn’t skated in a while.

The ice rink was a building close to the sea, and Victor could hear the familiar sea gulls as they jogged. He hoped Yuri had forgotten about the call.

The place — Ice Castle Hasetsu, as Yuuri had told him — was deserted but for one person when they entered, much to Victor’s liking. He greeted the woman cheerily, not sparing a single thought to the fact that it would be logical if she recognized him. Not a single thought.

He realised his mistake when Yuuri hissed, “Victor!” behind him, and the woman stared at him with badly concealed shock.

“Yuuri, どうなってるのか。[x]”

Although Victor had tried to introduce himself to Japanese after he met Yuuri at the banquet, the words the woman said were too rushed for him to have any chance at understanding.

Yuuri said something rushed back to her, while glancing worriedly at Victor.

Sure, he was used to the feeling that came when he heard people talking in a language he didn’t understand, obviously speaking of him. That didn’t mean he was okay with the feeling, rather that he hated it. He wanted to step in, force them to change over to English, but then he would probably have to once again explain why he was alive. It was tiring, and so far from what he had wanted. Explaining why he was alive wasn’t part of the plan, never had been.

(And he didn’t want to keep saying “I’m sorry”. He didn’t owe anyone anything, least of all people who didn’t care about him.)

Victor tuned out the hushed voices, and almost missed when the woman said, “Viktor Nikiforov?”

He turned to her and flashed a smile, which she answered with one of her own, but Yuuri was frowning at him.

(Why was he frowning? What was wrong? Why did he do that? What-)

“Yes?” Victor said, maintaining his smile.

“I’m Nishigori Yuuko.” She extended her hand, Victor took it and gave a light shake. “I work here, Yuuri is my friend.”

Victor found himself surprised by how accented her English was. He’d gotten used to Yuuri — who’s English was heavily American accented — and the Katsuki family — who seemed easily comfortable in the use of English whenever they talked to Victor. For some reason he had begun thinking it would be so with everyone.

“We came to have a look at the rink,” Yuuri hurried to say when it became evident that Victor didn’t know what to say. “Is it free? Is it okay if we-”

“Of course it’s okay, Yuuri,” Yuuko said, now with all of her dazzling attention on Yuuri. It made Victor frown, though he couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Yuuko and Yuuri had obviously known each other a long time, and they had a connection, one Victor envied — simply because he had no one with that strong of a connection.

Yuuko walked around the counter and lead the way past some benches and through a few doors into the ice rink. It wasn’t particularly big, nothing like the rink Victor was used to back in Saint Petersburg, but he guessed it could make do.

“Seems like it’s empty,” Yuuko said, “you can stay as long as you want. You know you’re always welcome here, right Yuuri?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri nodded, and put down a bag Victor hadn’t noticed him having before. He was going to ask Yuuri about it when the door opened behind them.

Victor turned around, as did Yuuko and Yuuri, and saw a man a few years older than Yuuri, strongly built, and maybe just a bit on the heavy side.

“Takeshi!” Yuuko stepped forward. “Could you made keep the triplets occupied? I think it’ll be easier if they just don’t come in her just yet.” She threw a sideways glance at Victor as she said it, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was about. Him being alive, again?

The man, Takeshi, nodded and turned back through the door, the same way he had come.

“That’s Yuuko’s husband, and another of my childhood friends,” Yuuri explained, as if because of Victor’s slight confused frown — even though it wasn’t directed at that. “The triplets are their daughters. They can be quite … overwhelming, I guess you could say? They like filming and taking photos, and more importantly to post whatever they’ve taken. That’s how the  _ Stammi Vicino _ video ended up on the internet.”

Victor was slightly surprised to hear Yuuri mention the video. He hadn’t once so far talked about it, and Victor got the impression that he was embarrassed about it.

But, Takeshi, he was Yuuko’s husband, huh? Victor couldn’t help but breath a silent sigh of relief. (Why was he relieved? Why-)

“If you don’t need something else I’ll get back and help Takeshi.” Yuuri waved her off, and then she left Victor alone with Yuuri.

When Victor turned back to Yuuri, he realised what the bag was for. Yuuri was in the middle of tying his skates, as if he was getting ready to go on the ice.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Victor asked him with a passive smile.

“What? I’m just gonna skate.”

“Nu-uh,” Victor tsked with a shake of his head. “You will not skate until you get back into the shape you were in at the Grand Prix final. Coach’s order.”

“Wha- You can’t just-”

“Coach’s order,” Victor repeated. “For now you will have to train to get into shape. I’ll try the ice out.”

Victor accompanied Yuuri back to the front desk, partially to make sure Yuuri really left to train, but also because he needed skates if he was going to test the ice.

Yuuko helped  him pick a pair out — he found her so much nicer suddenly, as if she had changed when Victor found out about her husband.

The skates felt strange when he was so used to his own, but he could make do. He wasn’t here to skate after all, but to train Yuuri. He could managed with borrowed skates.

But the skates wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. He hadn’t skated in quite a while now, and just having ice under his feet — that used to feel so comforting and familiar — felt strange and foreign. Whatever he did he couldn’t seem to feel satisfied.

Everything felt wrong.

* * *

When Yuuri decided he’d run enough he went back to the rink, in case Victor was still there. He wasn’t sure Victor would be able to find his way back if he was left alone, but Yuuri privately hoped Victor had already left, so that Yuuri could skate for a bit.

But when he stepped inside Victor was still there, out on the ice. He was skating around lazily, like he had no specific plan in mind, just skating for the sake of skating. Yuuri was spellbound by the way his body moved over the ice, envying that he could move so freely on the ice.

Yuuri could have believed that was the only thing he was doing if it wasn’t for his whole body being tense, not a single muscle relaxed. There was emotions in the tension, a lot of them, too many for Yuuri to identify all of them. He could only say one thing for certain, and it was that he couldn’t sense a single positive emotion at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ###### Translations:
> 
> どうなってるのか。- (Dō natteru no ka?) What's going on?! [back to text]  
> (I'm a bit unsure about this one, so if you happen to know Japanese I would greatly appreciate the help - I don't know enough Japanese yet...)
> 
> ~~~~~
> 
> Just a little question; does anyone happen to have the Yuuri birthday special pictures? I managed to miss those...
> 
> Thank you so much for all kudos and comments so far! It's absolutely wonderful to hear from you all, and it motivates me greatly to keep writing this, especially now that it turned out so much longer than I had first intended ... however that managed to happen.
> 
> Also, Yurio has as big part here as he does (now I realise it's not so big yet) courtesy of the comment from [GwenddolynStacy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynStacy/pseuds/GwendolynStacy) who got me thinking and that coupled with how dear Yurio has come to me over time, resulted in him getting a much bigger role. and the anger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. It's almost 3k though, if that makes up for it?

They had dinner when they got back from training, and Victor retreated to his room right after. Skating had exhausted him, though emotionally more than physically. How was he supposed to coach Yuuri if this happened when he only tried the ice? How was he supposed to keep his back up? How was he supposed to keep himself from crumbling? He had a responsibility to Yuuri now, but he didn’t even know how he was supposed to keep to it.

For a little while Victor laid as a heap on the bed, but it was quickly making him restless, letting his thoughts run wild. Maybe he could try read something, even if it mostly required a lot of focus from him. He threw himself up from the bed and went for his bag. A quick search through it (with everything that had once been inside strewn around him) he realised he’d never brought more than a few changes of clothes and what he needed the most. Why would he have a book when he hadn’t even brought his skates?

Maybe he could have a bath? Yeah, that was a good idea. He abruptly stood up — leaving his stuff on the floor — and went for the baths. There was a note on the door that he hadn’t seen before, with something scribbled in messy japanese. Even if he’d put more energy into learning the writing system back when he’d gotten the fling to learn the language, he wouldn’t have been able to read. With a shrug he opened to door and stepped in — it was probably nothing.

He let the door fall shut behind him, and at the sound something startled further in.

“Huh?” came a voice from further inside, followed by a quick string of japanese. Since he couldn’t understand it, Victor shrugged it off as not meant for him and walked towards the changing room.

“Oh, it’s you, Victor,” cane the voice again, note familiar now. When he turned around, Mari was standing there with a bucket and a few towels. “The baths are closed for the evening, we’re doing some cleaning.”

 _Oh._ That’s what the note was for. Victor gave Mari a soft, “Okay,” and went back to his room — not that there was much there to do.

 _Maybe_ … Victor halted when a thought struck him right outside his door. When he and Yuuri had jogged to the ice rink, he’d seen something that looked like a bar…

~~~~~

Victor stumbled back to the onsen later, when the streets were deserted and most lights were turned off in the houses. Even the onsen seemed empty too, so Victor tried to keep quiet as he supported himself against the wall to get to his room. He fell into his bed when he finally reached his room, to drained to really feel like undressing.

He was closed to falling asleep when he realised Makkachin was nowhere to be seen. He was about to get up and go look for her, but the movement sent a wave of nausea through him, so he collapsed back on the bed, hoping sleep would eventually pull him under. Anything to not have to think for much longer.

~~~~~

He woke up the next morning with a headache, his body feeling cold and heavy from lack of real sleep. He’d passed out at some point in the night, but the sleep had been restless and far from the relaxing he had hoped it would be.

He stumbled out of bed, noticed he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday, tried to smooth out the wrinkles, and went to get some breakfast.

The onsen seemed almost empty, and he realised it must be early in the morning. Mari, however, was sitting at a table having breakfast, so Victor sat down with her.

“Where’s Yuuri?” he asked, noting that he was nowhere to be found.

“He went out for a run with Makkachin a while ago,” Mari answered him, only half her focus on Victor. “He’ll be back at some point, I guess.”

Victor had a quick meal with Mari, the silence stretching out between them almost like she was ignoring him. Maybe she was — she had no reason to care about Victor, he was just a guest that had suddenly showed up to coach her brother.

Victor left her at the table as soon as he could, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the situation and his own skin. He hated the feeling of not belonging, of not even fitting in his own body. Usually he could just retreat back when it happened (so far not at any public event, which he was grateful for) but he didn’t want to go back to his bare, temporary room. He wanted to curl up on his couch with Makkachin, under the thick blanket his grandmother had made him. But that was left back in Russia, in the apartment that probably wasn’t even his anymore. Why would anyone have kept it for him when everyone thought he was dead?

Victor found himself just standing in an empty hallway for a while, at least over an hour, just staring at the wall. He wanted to creep out of his own skin, but something about just standing there had him frozen in time, had him forget his restlessness for a while.

Yuuri found him another while later, his hair damp like he’d washed it a while ago and it was now drying. Makkachin was trailing behind him, her tail wagging happily. Victor sank to the floor with his back to the wall, not caring that Yuuri was watching him. He held out his arms, and Makkachin happily bounced into his embrace, giving him a few wet dog-kisses. Victor hid his face in her fur and just breathed. She was there, with him.

“Um,” Victor heard Yuuri say, as if from a distance. Nothing more came, and a moment later he heard Yuuri’s retreating footsteps.

~~~~~

Yuuri found him again for dinner, sitting in the same spot, Makkachin asleep now. Victor stood up eventually, initially reluctant to wake his baby, but motivated by the rumbling of his stomach.

The food served for dinner tasted good, it really did, but every bite seemed to grow in Victor’s mouth, seemed to clog up his throat. He’d placed only a small portion on his plate, but he couldn’t even finish all of that.

He excused himself from the table when he felt Yuuri’s gaze on him and found him watching Victor with a frown. He couldn’t stand to sit there, being watched, and went for the baths. The hot water could substitute somewhat for the blanket, but it just wasn’t the same. It had to be enough, though.

Victor had dozed off when he heard a voice suddenly exclaiming his name, startling him. His body had relaxed, until he had slipped almost fully beneath the water surface, and had to splutter out the water he had breathed in. His nose seemed to burn, and he couldn’t stop coughing.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked when Victor’s coughing had died down.

“Yeah,” Victor nodded, his voice hoarse and his throat aching. He was _fine_ , dammit!

(If he kept telling himself that, maybe he could trick himself into believing it, to.)

“The baths are closing now, so you’ll have to leave.” Victor nodded and reluctantly climbed out. He missed the heat as soon as he stepped out.

~~~~~

Victor managed almost a week of sleeping without Makkachin there with him before he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted Makkachin to be happy, and he had realised a few days ago that she stayed with Yuuri, but he couldn’t get through another night alone. Not when he knew she was so closeby.

He knocked on Yuuri’s door, knowing full well how late it was and feeling bad for probably waking Yuuri. “Yuuri, let’s sleep together,” Victor tried, waiting for a response from inside. “I’m your coach, I need to get to know you better.”

He heard a sound from Makkachin, but no answer from Yuuri. “Yuuri?”

When he still got no response, he tried the door, but found himself unable to open it — almost like Yuuri is keeping him from doing it. “Why?”

“To get to know you,” Victor said again, glad to have finally gotten a reply. However, what followed was only more silence, so Victor added, “Makkachin wasn’t with me, and I know she’s with you.” More silence stretched out. “I miss her,” Victor said, so quiet he’d be surprised if Yuuri heard him.

The door suddenly opened,a lthough only in a slit, and Makkachin came out. Then the door closed and Victor though he heard Yuuri say, “Goodnight.”

Victor slowly went back to his room, laying down on the bed with Makkachin.

He woke up alone.

~~~~~

“I can start skating now.”

Victor looked up from the table he had stared down at — his breakfast forgotten on it — and saw Yuuri, directly back from his run.

“My weight is back to what it was at the final, so I can start skating now.”

 _Oh_. Victor hadn’t realised they would get into skating so quickly. He didn’t have any program prepared for Yuuri, and suddenly he realised he had no idea how to coach.

“Okay, we’ll go to the rink then.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri nodded, “I’m just gonna have a quick shower and change first.”

* * *

Victor had been awfully distant the last few days, and he seemed to be just as distant when they walked to the rink. He was staring out in front of himself, out over the ocean when they walked over the bridge. It was like he didn’t even notice Yuuri’s presence next him. It worried Yuuri, but he had no idea what to do. He couldn’t even deal with his own anxiety, and absolutely not whatever was bothering Victor.

“Victor, what is is that had bothered you?” Yuuri asked casually as he laced his skates. “And don’t say nothing, I know there’s something.”

He glanced up at Victor, who’s face was still miles away and shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought we would work with your jumps. They are far too inconsistent in competition for it to be acceptable.”

Yuuri let Victor talk and followed him to the ice. If he didn’t want to talk, fine. He would eventually, and then Yuuri would find out what was bothering him.

“Victor?” Yuuri asked later, after having noticed that Victor was watching him without really seeing — he’d just flubbed one of his jumps but Victor hadn’t remarked it.

“Yes, Yuuri?” Victor asked, a smile forming on his lips that was painfully fake to Yuuri.

“Is everything fine?”

“Yes, everything is great, Yuuri. Now, you need to focus more on your landing when-”

“Were you on medication before?” Yuuri interrupted Victor with his question, who seemed to deflate and sighed.

“No, why do you ask?”

“You’ve just been, I don’t know, so distant these last days. And I can’t figure out why and you won’t talk to me.”

“It’s not on you, Yuuri, get back to training the jumps.” Victor waved his hand dismissively, but Yuuri wouldn’t have it.

“No,” he said and stomped off the ice. “Talk to me. I don’t know what to do when you’re like this, and you can’t coach me if you aren’t concentrated.”

“You’re not my therapist,” Victor sighed, but sat down on the bench. “I’ve just been feeling a little strange, that’s all. Nothing to worry about, it will pass eventually.”

“You can’t just say that!” Yuuri protested. Even if he wasn’t good at handling his anxiety, he knew that in Victor’s position he couldn’t just ignore the problems and hope they would go away. It didn’t work like that. “It doesn’t work like that! You can’t just- you need to take care of yourself, okay?”

He looked over at Victor, who sat with hunched shoulders and stared down at the floor. “I know that maybe I’m not the best person to say that. But, I know that you can’t always deal with everything on your own. I need to work on that with my anxiety, I know that.”

Victor looked up, glancing sideways at Yuuri. He seemed to debate something for a moment and then said, “I’ll call my therapist when we get  back, okay?”

Yuuri nodded. “If you think that is what you need to get better, I think that sounds great.” He stood up and got back on the ice, turning over his shoulder to add, “I can’t have you coach me if you can’t focus, it won’t work.”

* * *

“Doctor Kozlova?” Victor asked when the call connected, the use of Russian a relief after having been confined to English for so long.

“Mr. Nikiforov?” came her surprised reply. “I wasn’t expecting you. Yakov let me know about the … ah, situation.”

Victor sighed and let his head fall forward. “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure how to continue and so was quiet for a moment. “I haven’t been feeling so well. I…”

“I would prefer it if you could come instead of taking this over the phone. Especially now after … the situation.”

“I can’t,” Victor said, closing his eyes.

“And why is that?”

“I’m in Japan. I… I’m coaching, here, for Katsuki Yuuri.”

They ended up talking for a bit, Victor relieved over the familiarity over the conversation. He hadn’t thought it would be that different without the therapy, but at some point it had come to be too much for him to deal with on his own. He needed to deal with his shit and he couldn’t do that on his own. Before the call ended he promised to seek out a therapist in Japan, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He would need Yuuri’s help.

~~~~~

When he was ready for bed, Makkachin was, as he’d grown accustomed to, not there. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep good if she wasn't there, but at the same time he didn’t want to drag her away from Yuuri either. She really liked him, and Yuuri had taken better care of her lately than what Victor had. It was just right that she was allowed to sleep where she wanted. Victor could just follow with her.

“Yuuri, can I sleep here?”

He heard shuffling from inside the room in response to his knock, and then came Yuuri’s voice from next to the door. “Why can’t you sleep in your own room?”

“Makkachin isn’t there, and I can’t sleep without her.”

“I can just send her out to you.”

“That won’t work,” Victor sighed. “She’ll just be back here. I don’t… I’ve been a really bad owner to her lately and I just want her to get what she wants. But I won’t … I won’t get any better if I sleep without her.”

After their conversation at the ice rink Victor had begun feeling he could put trust in Yuuri, that he could confide in him. Yuuri had seen through his carefully put up facade, and he had seemed like he really cared. Yuuri really seemed like he cared, and Victor wanted to use that, not just dismiss it. He wanted Yuuri to care about him.

(He wanted Yuuri. He’d wanted Yuuri since the banquet.)

Before Yuuri could protest again, Victor tried open the door and suddenly found himself standing in Yuuri’s room, staring at … well, him.

~~~~~

Of course Yuuri, this fantastic person in front of Victor, cared about Victor Nikiforov, the figure skater. He had been stupid to believe that there was more behind Yuuri’s concern. Stupid to believe that he cared about Victor Nikiforov, the person.

~~~~~

They fixed a mattress and put it on the floor beneath Yuuri’s bed. Makkachin curled up next to Victor on it, but it still didn’t help Victor sleep. Yuuri’s soft snores filled the room, and on the floor lay Victor staring up at the dark ceiling.

He had meant to, wanted to, ask Yuuri to help him look for a therapist, but… After finding out about the posters, and the realisation that came with them, all energy had drained out of Victor. He had taken the blanket and pillow, in silence, and laid down, in silence.

He’d been stupid, gotten his expectations up, and now he was paying for that.

* * *

For some reason, Yakov hadn't wanted to sell Victor’s apartment (though Yuri could understand why now), and so it was left untouched, everything left in place as it had been when Victor- Yuri forced himself not to think about it. He’d stolen a key from Yakov a few days after, just to go there, be somewhere where Victor’s presence could still be felt. When he’d opened the door there had been dried up puke on the floor. Yuri had carefully stepped around the puke, just to be taken aback by shock of how cold the apartment felt. He’d thought he’d be able to feel Victor in the air, but it was as if no one had lived there for years.

(He’d curled up on the couch and cried.)

When Yuri came this time, someone had been there to clean up the puke. A slight fresh smell lingered in the air, and it felt so wrong Yuri wanted to turn around and flee from the place. Instead he walked further in, determined, like a man on a mission. He would just search for a few things and then be on his way. That was all.

(He ended up giving the couch a few angry kicks before he left, but no one had to know about that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst is not over, oh-no, it's just getting started. No Yuri in Japan yet, but he's coming next chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm not entirely certain how one would actually address each other in the situation when Victor calls his therapist? Like, I'm not sure how you address each other in that situation in Russian, so ... it became the english way.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [jennypigalle](http://jennypigalle.tumblr.com) and [pigalleonwattpad](http://pigalleonwattpad.tumblr.com), where you can always find a reblogable post about the work.


End file.
